To Be Burned
by SnarklestheCat
Summary: Another wonderful piece of work by Ayra Sei Ethari. Obi-Wan is taken as a slave, until he is found and freed. Romance. Non slash. She has no intent on finishing it, but please, if you like it, PM HER account, and encourage her to finsih it. Very fluffy.


(Note: So….the author was planning on deleting this part of the story….and the story is never being written…but….I love it…so I had to save it and post it. Reading it may cause a sudden hailstorm to fall upon you….You have been warned.)

The first time I saw him, he was just a newly bought slave that was the only offworlder slave we'd ever had.

But he was so much more than that.

I knew he was different from the moment I set eyes on him. He wasn't like the broken, silent, bent over slaves beside him. He toiled as long as they did with work as backbreaking and long as theirs – but he never seemed . . . broken. He still seemed . . . in control of himself, as though he was simply patiently waiting out a phase of life instead of knowing he was tied by chains tighter than any he ever had before.

Like I said, it was strange.

Then he turned to do something and briefly, our eyes met.

It was the strangest thing ever. His eyes were nothing like I'd ever seen before – blue and green, mixed together and changing color. His hair was strange too; a color I could only describe as a copper, even though I'd never seen copper before.

But perhaps that was why I called it that. No person here on this planet would have that kind of hair color; our hair was either really, really light, falling in the range of blonde and grey, or really, really dark, like brown or black. And no one had eyes or hair that mixed two colors together. Even my eyes, dark blue as they were, were still dark blue. Not blue-purple-black or something.

Then his eyes flashed away, and he ignored me as they all did.

I shook myself and continued on my way as best I could, but that face continued to haunt me for a few more days. He wasn't from the Outer Rim. He couldn't be.

So what in the galaxy's name was he doing out here as a slave?

(Big jump to freedom scene.)

He stiffened when I pressed the cold cloth against his shoulder.

"Hey, relax," I said. "It's me."

He relaxed a tiny bit, but then again I didn't really blame him. Despite all the scars I could see crisscrossing his back, I doubted he had ever gotten them from being whipped before. However . . . I still shuddered to think how he could have gotten them if not by being whipped.

Speaking of all the scars . . .

"How hard was it?"

A crease appeared in his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" he asked, his Coruscanti accent coming out in full force now that we were alone and he didn't have to keep up his facade anymore.

I wiped away the dirt from the biggest burn before carefully dabbing on the healing salve. "Being a Jedi."

He turned his head to me, careful not to shift his back too much and irritate the wounds, but enough to express the puzzled emotions on his face. "Why do you ask?"

I hesitated before pressing my fingers to one of the older scars, livid and raised despite its age. "Where did these all come from? You haven't been subjected to the . . . lash . . . this much here."

He was silent for a while before he answered, "Being a Jedi is a hard life."

"Hard enough to become scarred like this?"

"No, I . . . That's not what I meant."

I finished wiping off the last of the dirt and the blood. After checking to ensure that all of them had been cleaned and had salve added, I tossed away the cloth and shoved the salve into a drawer in my nightstand. Hopefully, he wouldn't need it again anytime soon. Then I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to answer me completely.

Finally, he sighed. "I don't think you'll understand. I _chose_ to become a Jedi. I didn't chose to become a slave; I don't think anyone does. Therefore . . . these wounds . . . They mean nothing. It's just part of what being a Jedi means. It's not smooth gliding."

"Since when has life ever been smooth gliding?"

His lips twitched and he smiled gently at me. "Usually never. But being a Jedi can be worse. These . . . They generally came from bad encounters."

I froze, staring at him with horror dawning. "Torture?" I whispered through numbed lips. "You've been tortured?"

He seized my shoulders before I could jump up indignantly.

"Calm down," he warned, his blue-green eyes narrowing. I knew he would use his Jedi powers on me forcibly if things went too far, so with a great deal of self-control, I brought myself back.

"Who would torture you?"

He released me, his eyes flickering between weariness and sorrow. "Old enemies. And new missions."

He said it nonchalantly, but I flinched all the same.

His expression softened, and he reached out for me, bringing me against his chest. I was too frozen, too horrified to do much else. Never, in my wildest imaginings, could I have _dreamed_ that someone would torture a Jedi enough to leave such grievous scars on him. It wasn't limited to his back either; I could see more trailing across his stomach and chest as well.

"Relax," he murmured in my ear, his hand trailing up and down my back.

I could feel my muscles relaxing anyways, despite the mental freeze I had on, and it was enough to snap me out.

I pulled away. "What happened to no frivolous use of your Jedi powers?" I demanded.

He laughed softly. "You speak of it as though it's some marvelous gift, like telekinesis or something," he said, still chuckling. "I wield only that which life has. Everyone wields it. The only difference is that I know how to."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Enough with the philosophy."

"Yes, my lady," he said, still smiling.

Then his eyes flickered to my window, and the smile vanished. He stood, releasing me with a grudging reluctance.

"Where are you going?" I demanded.

"I'd better get back; tomorrow we get up the same time as usual," he answered with a sigh.

I leaped up and managed to get to the door before him, a feat I was surprised he allowed me to do, especially since I had seen his Jedi reflexes and they were far beyond anything I could ever do or ever hope to do, even in my highest and wildest dreams.

"No," I told him.

He looked at me, confused. I deliberately slid the door shut behind me, locking us inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Locking us in. Obviously."

"I can see that. _Why?_"

"You're not going back to the barracks tonight."

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me as though he was judging how long it would take to jump out the window instead.

"You're staying with me."

I grabbed his hand and – with great difficulty – towed him over to the bed. I knew he was only coming because he was choosing to let me drag him, but at least he was letting me, willing to see where I was going with this. That, at least, was a small victory. Of course, he could have also been reading my emotions to see what I where I was trying to go, but I was confident my emotions would just be a jumbled and confusing mix at this point.

Sure enough, when I plopped down on the bed and tugged at his hand, he stalled.

"What do you want?"

I released his hand and rested it instead of the space beside me. "Stay with me. Tonight. Please."

Uncertainty entered his eyes. "That's not quite what . . ."

"Please?" When he continued to hesitate, I added quickly, "Just stay beside me. I don't want your wounds to fester or anything."

His shoulders dropped, and he sighed. But he did lie down beside me, reaching for me as he always did and pulling me close to him. I, meanwhile, relished in the warmth of his embrace, I who had never been shown any kind of affection before. His feelings towards me still confused me sometimes, but then again, most likely I confused him too.

His lips found my hair, and he whispered, "You are the most puzzling woman I have ever met."

I rolled my eyes. "And you aren't the most puzzling man?"

He chuckled, the rumbles in his chest familiar when I pressed my head to it.

"Of a sort," he agreed casually.

"Obi-Wan?"

He slid his fingers into my hair, freeing it from the tie that bound it and smoothing it down my back. "Hmm?"

"Don't put me to sleep and leave."

He shifted, and this time his lips found my forehead. "I wasn't planning to."

I woke just before the sun rose the next morning.

Obi-Wan still slept beside me, his arms a loose embrace around me. His hair glowed copper under the soft light, accentuating the difference between my dark brown hair and tanned skin and his copper-colored hair and fair yet scarred skin.

Then I slipped out of his arms.

There were things to be done before he awoke.

When I got back, I only had to close the door before I jumped in surprise.

Obi-Wan was standing right in front of me, eyes narrowed, arms crossed, body tense.

"What did you do?"

Reflexively, my hands snapped behind me, shielding the papers I had signed and become the owner of in the past hour of transaction.

"Nothing. . ."

His eyes narrowed even further, and his hand flashed out.

The papers literally ripped themselves from my grasp and flew to him. He scanned them, his eyes growing wider with each passing line. Finally, his jaw dropped open at the very last line, where I had signed.

"You . . . You . . ." he stammered, staggering backwards.

"I bought you. I bought your freedom."

It felt wonderful to say the words, to know he was free, to know he wouldn't have to suffer again under the lash.

"I . . ." He collapsed on to the bed. "Why?"

"I . . . I . . . Um . . ."

I couldn't answer him. How could I put into words the emotions that had struck me when I had seen his wounds, the emotions that had motivated me to purchase his freedom, the emotions that even now whispered to me that my feelings for him ran too deep to ever go back?

He stood. "So I belong to you now."

"No."

He frowned, confused. "But . . ."

"No, you don't. I don't own anyone. Much . . . less . . . you."

A flicker of a smile crossed his face, and within three strides he was right in front of me again. His arms flashed out, becoming insurmountable barriers on either side of me, pining me between the wall and him, and in that moment a wall would be more movable than him. Then his hands fell to my shoulders, and he pulled me to him, so quickly the only thing I had time to do was blink.

He lowered his face until he was so close that I could feel his breath on my lips when he said, "Oh, you're very wrong there."

Of course, then I didn't care at all to dissect his words, because he kissed me.


End file.
